You Could Say That
by Ghost in the Computer
Summary: 221B Baker Street is not an easy place to live. Upstairs, the crippled veteran and his two children. Downstairs, the banker with his odd sons. The two youngest of the four, John and Sherlock, form a friendship in a guidance group to move on after the deaths of their mums as they try to discover who they are, what they want and why a girl died behind their school. Johnlock. AU.
1. Chapter 1: The Alley Girl

**_Chapter One: The Alley Girl  
_**

"Bye bye, mum!" She said over her shoulder as she skipped out of her house. Her mother lay on the sofa, tea bags on her closed eyes, barely aware of her daughter leaving the house at all.

"Have a good time, dear." The older woman said quite weakly, adjusting the bags over her eyes and sighing deeply. The woman was quite upset as she had managed to develop some horrible dark circles. She had been staying out too late, far too late. She didn't like the hours that she worked, she didn't like the pay she was given but she couldn't find any other work.

The autumn air blew in from the open window that hadn't shut since the little girl who just left was a baby, and while the mother lying on the sofa wished that it would just snap shut, her daughter didn't seem to mind it at all as she skipped down the sidewalk away from her house in her faded, yellow jumper. She quite liked that jumper.

The streets were dead quiet as most people were inside having supper. The little girl looked into the windows and wondered what it would be like to be the children that sat around the table. Her stomach grumbled. Usually she was never hungry, or at least that's what her mum thought. Somehow, the little girl's mother found it a bit easier to ignore her empty fridge if her baby girl assured her that she wasn't famished in the least.

The little girl pulled out a small, pink notebook and pen. Looking into the window of a particularly cheery house, she jotted down a few notes. She hummed to herself as she wrote, and then snapped her notebook shut, turned, and skipped down the road to the next house. She repeated her odd actions for the next couple of homes before she turned down a dark alley.

She spun around, letting her long, brown hair down from its ponytail and then continued on. Her thin, pale hands played with the frayed end of her blue skirt absentmindedly as she walked deeper into the dark maze. She didn't seem scared at all, she looked happy, she looked peaceful. Eventually, the little girl closed her eyes, which were as bright a shade of blue as her mother's, and held her arms out by her sides so that they barely brushed the dirty, graffiti-covered walls.

Her pace slowed just a little bit as she walked further into the stone labyrinth whose walls stretched high up to the sky. Her consistent humming turned to song as she ventured deeper and deeper. Her voice was a bit scratchy, as if she hadn't used it in a long time.

"Nighttime comes with shadows trailing; Baby's eyes are open wide," It seemed as thought time had stopped for the little girl as she continued the back street with her eyes shut. Every time she came to a turn, she would take it as if she knew where she was going. Not once did she ever hit a dead end.

"What are you doing back here, girly?" A man with a gruff voice asked as she walked by. She said nothing and the tramp shrunk back onto the shadows. Her song didn't stop as she continued on. The homeless shied away from her, there was something very wrong with this little girl. They did not ask her any questions. As she walked on, her song changed. The lyrics were old, the melody was slow. It was as if the young girl was going to a funeral.

After a little bit, her eyes opened and her half-finished song died in her throat. She stood in front of a chain-link fence. Boxes were stacked on either side of the walls that framed the twisted metal wall. The little girl took a deep breath and climbed on a low box and then up to a higher one until she could drop over to the other side.

She let out the deep breath she'd been holding the entire time and jumped over the side of the fence. The little girl covered her pale lips with her small hand to keep down a dry sob as her tights ripped. She sat back and hissed in pain as a blood stain soaked her kneecap. She stood up slowly, carefully and walked closer to the building that lay beyond the fence.

It was a short building made of dark grey stone. The windows were dark but dim streetlights shone from high above, casting shadows onto the slick pavement. The wind blew around the little girl, chilling her. A rat scurried by her feet but she did not scream. She remained silent, a hand clamped over her mouth.

She heard a creaking noise behind her. She didn't move. The creaking became louder, again she didn't move. Her eyes closed again as her breathing quickened.

She didn't turn around as someone grabbed her from behind.


	2. Chapter 2: Watson

**_Chapter Two: Watson_**

John watched the sun peek over the roof of frozen valley . The frost on the grass didn't stand a chance and he observed silently as it melted away to nothing, leaving the green blades behind. Despite that, the autumn chill could not be mistaken and his suit was very thin.

He didn't like formal wear, it was very itchy. He was certain his mother didn't like it either, but there she was, lying in her wooden casket in a ball gown. Her blonde hair was perfectly curled so that it framed her shoulders, her lips were stained red with lipstick, her eyes lined with black. Her eyelids were closed, hiding her light green irises. Her gloved hands were at her sides. She looked as if she were asleep.

She looked happy.

John felt the lump in his throat build up again. He felt the familiar drop in his stomach as he looked to his sister, Harriet. Clad in grey, she looked like a stone and her face was as still as one. Harry never cried, Harry never let her pain at the loss of her mum show. John wished he could be like her. John was like an open book.

He felt his father's gaze on him like a heavy weight. He could always tell when his dad looked at him, he always felt it. His father's eyes had been so sad when he got the call from the hospital, but a week had passed and the pain was now carefully hidden by anger. His father was not sad anymore , he was angry. He was angry at John because John was sad, men don't get sad, or so John was told.

John couldn't help it, he missed his mum. Food wasn't the same. _Nobody_ could cook like his mother could. School was harder because _Nobod_y understood algebra like his mother did, and n_obody _could make John cry like she could. Still, he fought back tears until his eyes burned as her casket was closed. John wanted to rip the damn lid off of its hinges just to get one last look at her but instead he stayed still as she was lowered into the ground.

The priest read from a book for a long, long time. John thought it felt like a thousand years until the old man closed his book and the people began to leave. What ever was to come would not take place here.

John took his sister's hand when she offered it to him and she led him towards the limousine that their father had rented. The thawed grass still crunched under his feet as he trudged past more gravestones than anybody would ever want to count. The chauffeur gave him a sad look and a reassuring smile as they came closer to the car. John just shook his head at him, he was certain that he would never smile again. Harry opened the door for him and he got inside, sighing and leaning his head back against the leather seat.

"Wasn't that a beautiful service?" John groaned to himself in his mind as he heart his aunt Maggie get in the car. He loved her dearly, but she was the time of person who could not seem to grieve silently as the rest of John family was trying to do. John begrudgingly opened his eyes and forced himself to nod.

_The service was many things, but it was not beautiful. _He said to himself. At least it was outside. His mum loved the outdoors and so naturally her wake was out amongst the trees and the birds and the small amount of flowers. It seemed as though his meager acknowledgment of his aunt's presence was not enough, for the stout little woman soon turned to poor Harriet.

"I think Aggie would've liked that her wake was outside." She said. Her voice was thick, John could tell that the woman was on the verge of tears. He wondered how on Earth she could have any tears left, she'd bawled throughout the entire service. Still, John's father didn't care, she aunt Maggie wasn't from his side of the family.

John wanted to scream at the woman to shut up for once in her life. It seemed as though Harry did too, but they both held their tongues and quietly crossed their fingers, hoping that their temporarily daft aunt wouldn't say anything about their mum in front of their dad.

"Didn't you find the service nice, George?" John wanted to slap her as his father clenched his jaw. She didn't notice, obviously, and continued to chatter on about the color of her sister's dress. Harry discreetly rolled her eyes at their aunt's stupidity as their dad gripped the arm rest a little tighter. John watched, barley able to contain himself as his father's rage began to build. Higher and higher it got until the two adolescents knew that he was about to completely lose it.

"Could you," Their father began, "Shut up about Agatha for a moment, Margret?" Their father's voice was clipped. Poor aunt Maggie looked shocked. "Just for a moment _please_?" Their was so much burning hatred in his voice, so intense was his rage that the usually rebellious Margret took his advice and closed her mouth that hung open in shock.

"I apologize, George." She said in a similar clipped voice. The car fell in to a deafening silence and John merely wished that he could be home in his room. He was beginning to get a bit tired, and the overdue headache from holding back his tears was beginning to creep in. He turned to stare out tinted window of the limousine.

He watched as the sun was covered by large, dark clouds. He watched as rain fell from the sky and on to the window pane as if it were crying. He wished he could cry.

He turned away from the window and instead forced himself to think of tomorrow; his first day in a new school. His father was an war veteran and tended to move around quite a bit, their newest home would be a flat at 221B Baker Street. He was glad to be rid of the dingy hotel that his small family had been staying at, he would not miss it in the least. Still, John didn't really like change very much and was a bit concerned about how dull his new life would be.

His father reassured him that he would not be alone, as apparently a banker lived below him with a son his age. He didn't even know the boy's name though. He hoped that he would like the mystery boy. Actually, he hoped that mystery boy would like him.


End file.
